


Going Crazy

by HowlingSentinel



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: F/M, Porn With Plot, Suits, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-31
Updated: 2010-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 06:02:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowlingSentinel/pseuds/HowlingSentinel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: Written in response to the inception kink meme prompt "lace garters and dark sheer silk stockings (or fishnets)Arthur's always been a leg man, likes touching that bit of skin that peeks out between the stocking and the lace."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ariadne had changed a lot since the Fischer job, since Cobb "retired", since the team had gone their separate ways for fear of Fischer catching on. In six months she was almost back to how she'd been before. In a year she'd gone back to pre-inception Ari and moved past it to Ariadne Page star architecture and psychology student.

She was damn proud of the fact that she could draft buildings the likes of which had yet to be seen- was sought after by wealthy new business men wanting to make a mark on the world. It was almost as if one Dom Cobb had never walked into her life, thrown her through the ringer a few dozen times in the space of four weeks and then walked right back out again.

"Ms. Page." The voice of Ariadne's receptionist startled her from her "pleasure" drawing - inner musings twisted into buildings out of words that plagued her.

"Yes, Lisa?"

"There's a Mr. Arthur and Mr. Eames here to see you, Ma'am."

"Send them in." The former architect's voice didn't hold a smidgeon of recognition as she nearly barked the order to her receptionist, face smoothing into a severe yet comely visage as the men waltzed into her office.

Arthur was still very much how she remembered him - no wrinkles, all crisp lines; neatly tucked shirts, - professional until it hurt. Eames on the other hand, looked a bit different, he'd trimmed his facial hair until it was almost nonexistent. It looked, rugged, appealing had Ariadne not worked with the highly irritating and yet interesting man.

"Gentlemen," She greeted, voice lowering to its no-nonsense timber with a soft almost seducing edge to it, "What brings you to my corner of the world?"

For an awkward, pregnant moment, neither man spoke or moved, unless of course one takes into consideration frantic glances at each other. The brunette waited patiently however, her small fingers lacing together on top of her sketchbook, ink stains just visible on her index and middle fingers.

"Well, Ms. Page, we're here about a building." Arthur started, shifting slightly as he slipped first one hand and then the other into the pockets of his silk pants.

"It's very intricate, and sometimes seems to defy gravity in a most devastating and completely decorative way. You see, Ms. Page, it is a dream that is near and dear to the both of us, and will most likely take months of grueling architect work." Eames cut in, sauntering over to Ariadne's desk and placing himself in one of the chairs. The fact the waif like woman hadn't invited him to sit didn't faze the forger and nor did it go unnoticed by said woman.

"This sounds very time consuming boys, something that's going to take me away from my other clients - handsomely wealthy and demanding clients I might add, to complete this little dream of yours. The price for such an endeavor shan't be small."

Eames smirked, waving his hand - the poker chip totem Ari had once spied flipping over his fingers. Arthur too, was smirking, dark eyes that had once made the little architect loose her breath full of respect and pride. It was the point man who answered.

"Payment won't be an issue, Ariadne, in fact, I dare say it will make up for the time you'll have to be away from your other demanding clientele."

Smiling for the first time since the men entered her office, Ari revealed the young woman the men had become fast comrades with as she stood and walked from behind her desk. Coming from behind the desk with short, precise strides, Ariadne smoothed the front of her suit, unaware of Arthur's appraising gaze when she shook hands first with Eames.

"It sounds like a promising venture gentlemen, one I will be happy to work with you on."

It doesn't go unnoticed by the calm point man when Eames slides a hand up the architect's leg, the paper he's aiming to hide, swooshing over expensive, sheer stockings and rustling when its slipped into an equally expensive garter. It earns him an icy glare from Ari and a silent promise of pain later from Arthur before the duo gracefully exit's the room, leaving the little architect with her thoughts again.

It's been two goddamn weeks since the job started and Arthur had hoped -fuck he'd prayed- Ariadne would return to her skinny jeans, colorful t-shirt, cardigan and scarf routine. The skirts of varying length, that all held onto her legs like a dying man clings to crumbs are driving him to the brink. Charcoal, black, white, pinstripe, beige, red - good lord the red - it didn't matter what color, it didn't matter when they were vintage cut, laced up the back, had slits with modesty panels or without - what mattered was the fact that woman's legs were on display all day. All smooth curves that seemed to go on for miles despite the petite architects height, add to it the fact she would wear stockings - he knew they were stockings, he stared so long at her that first day he'd been able to trace the subtle rise and fall of her garters beneath her skirt - fuck Arthur was going insane.

Going to Ariadne had seemed at the moment to be the best idea. She was brilliant - the remainder of the team was well aware of that fact. It would make this extraction slip past that much quicker if they had her there, excellent maze mistress that she was.

Arthur buried his head in his hands, distantly hearing his notebook crinkle in protest. In and out, two weeks tops - that was what this job should have been. Instead he was being driven to distraction, longing to just run his finger tips over the slip of exposed thigh that waited, hidden under Ariadne's skirt - when he should be finding a way around the fact their mark was a goddamned recluse with a penchant for paranoia with an ocd streak the size of the continental U.S.

"Really Arthur, this is getting pathetic." Eames drawled from the doorway, eyes laughing at the distraught point man.

"Leave me alone Eames."

"Oh I rather think I won't. This is much to entertaining. The point man mooning like a school girl over the pixie architect. It's better than a soap opera."

"Eames." Arthur warned, patience wearing thin more rapidly than usual with the forger today.

"She's wearing seamed ones today. Have you seen them- divine. If I'm not mistaken these ones are vintage 40s, not the horrific nylon remakes you can usually find. Pure silk - hell you can even see the lace at the top today, she's got on a new suit, its blue, but the slit is less than modest." Eames spoke and watched as the stoic man before him fought back reaction after reaction, strangled noises trying to worm their way from his throat as he reluctantly listened.

"Ms. Page is a far cry from the little Ariadne we knew a year ago isn't she Arthur? So severe now, she hardly ever laughs…I wonder if some undeserving sod broke her heart while we weren't here to protect her. Slid off her skinny jeans while we weren't looking, robbed her of her precious gifts and took off, leaving her cold and alone. That's the only reason I can think of for her sudden change to steely business woman who'll seduce you out of half a million without even taking her cloths off."

"Eames."

"Yes Darling."

"Get the fuck out." The point man ground out between gritted teeth, the scenario making him white knuckled and a few pages rip in his iron grip. No man should ever put his hands on beautiful, trusting, sweet, little Ariadne - his architect.

"I've got to go talk to her."


	2. Chapter 2

Arthur found the lithe and ever so lovely Ariadne perched on top of her desk, a to scale model of the club they were using as the dream's stage sitting on her lap as she peered down into it. For a moment, he stood just outside her door and took the woman's form in, noting the changes in her. Hair that was once carelessly wavy was now wrapped in a tight chignon, a few wisps escaping their prison every now and then, gone were the days of scarves, replaced by a silver decorated locket - perhaps holding family pictures. Her nails were longer, square tipped and manicured, though her fingers still bore ink stains.

Arthur missed the quirky girl of a year ago but couldn't help they way his eyes ran over her, stopping to place a mental kiss on her cheek, or slide a hand over her arm. He favored her legs above all however, lean with slight definition, they were covered in blemish free skin and now-a-days always encased in stockings. The point man hadn't disliked when Ari wore jeans, no, no, he loved those skinny jeans, but now that she exposed and covered them all at the same time in those sinful stockings - well, he was rendered immobile at the sight.

Leaning against the door frame, content for the moment to watch the little architect, nearly forgetting why he drove himself to her office in such a fury, Arthur took in the rest of Ariadne, still comparing what he knew to what was currently. The pixie still pursed her lips when she found something was off, still hunched over her models when no one was there to correct it. Those similarities comforted Arthur, reminded him this was still the young woman he'd tricked into a kiss that one time in that one dream.

"Arthur…"

"Mm?" He grunted, eyes locked on the slit Eames had been so kind (not that Arthur will ever tell him) to point out. The top of Ariadne's stockings had a tiny bit of delicate lace running around them, Arthur's fingers were itching to touch the skin they teasingly hinted at.

"This club, I'm going to need to see some pictures of it, the light positions and V.I.P lounges are giving me a headache. Also those backrooms Eames mentioned, I've got to see inside one, they can't be black space- that would clue in the dreamer pretty quickly."

"I'll see what I can get you." He mutters half tuned into Ariadne's voice, missing the triumphant smirk tugging her glossed lips. Shifting on the desk, she crosses her legs, the slit in her skirt opening more, and she can hear Arthur's breath stutter.

"Why don't we just go. Dress down, way down mind you, and check it out. He'll never see us in a crush of people and-"

"I'll pick you up at eight" Arthur cuts her off, shocked at his own ability to be rude, especially around the architect and his dark orbs fly to her face. All she gives him is a raised eye brow and crooked smile for all his horror and nods.

They stay that way a moment, just looking at each other before Ari returns to her work, legs still crossed - ignoring Arthur's very existence now she's gotten what she wants from him. It strikes the point man again how much the architect has changed, flowered into a woman he wants to know, wanted to know before, but right now, right now he really needs to go have a few moments alone before he makes a complete fool of himself.

As he turns, he sneaks a callused hand to adjust himself, not feeling or seeing the appreciative sweep of Ariadne's eyes on his movements. When he's left Ariadne sets her model aside and leans over the desk to fish her cell from her clutch a true smile, and giddy light in her eyes. Punching in a number she chatter's softly to her sister.

"Désirée , je vous dois le déjeuner et la maison de vos rêves . Ce plan de votre petite a fonctionné!"* She didn't see Eames lurking by her door, nor his appreciative smile.

'The little darling has grown up, and done so beautifully.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Desiree, I owe you lunch and the house of your dreams. This little plan of yours has worked!


	3. Chapter 3

Coming to the club, Arthur decides as he downs a rusty nail, leaning against the bar eyes glued to the dance floor, was a bad idea. If working with Ariadne had been bad before, after tonight, the point man would be lucky if she didn't haunt him on jobs. It should be a goddamn sin the way she moves, the way she's dressed.

He hadn't been able to see the outfit when he'd shown up at her apartment to pick her up - the architect had already put on her half length trench coat, but even then to Arthur she looked like sex walking. Black pumps, sheer dark stockings, the gunmetal black trench coat with its belt cinched tight around her wasp like waist. He was a goner from the second she'd opened the door and his eyes had blazed a hot trail up from her come-fuck-me-pumps.

Small talk had been non-existent in the car on the way to the trendy Paris club. The point man's ability to speak at all had been dismantled when the pixie wench had checked her coat. Ariadne had chosen a strapless tube dress that clung to every curve, worn her now signature stockings and garters and Arthur was hard pressed to not fall on his knees to press his lips to the slip of skin that kept peeking from under the edge of the black dress. All in all Ariadne was a vision of dark beauty, hair falling down her back in soft waves, her eyes outlined with heavy dramatic kohl, full little lips glossed a shade that suited her complexion nicely.

The woman had dressed with care, Arthur could tell she had, especially after he saw a glint in her eye when she turned to see him all but liquefied on the floor. Brushing past him, smirking as she moved to the dance floor Ariadne breathed a sentence into his ear, silently delighting when he failed to hide a shudder.

"Let's get down to work shall we, mon cher."

Then she had just glided off onto the dance floor, leaving Arthur to entertain himself - which consisted mostly of downing liquid courage and getting up the balls to go dance with her. The point man wanted to mould himself against her lithe form, station his hands on either thigh and move with her to the music - it was a waking dream at this moment. However, if he went over, he'd want more than dancing, more than one night, more than just an indulgence in her body - he'd seen where that road went. So Arthur stay at the bar, sipping another dram Bouie and whiskey concoctions, facing the dance floor, eyes on Ariadne. Even just watching had the usually stoic man shifting as his pants tightened to uncomfortable levels.

Ariadne lost herself in the music the moment she stepped onto the dance floor. Music lit up her soul in ways very similar to architecture both real and when dreaming. The creations she made now were biological, chemical reactions in those around her. Every detail ignited someone somewhere, and the architect loved it. So she let the music sweep through her body, gliding, twisting, dipping and rocking as it willed her to.

Tonight was important. If she couldn't break Arthur's will, couldn't make him see her past being the architect - she would leave once the job was done. Hell she would leave Paris, the only reason the woman had stayed was in hopes the team would need her at some point and she would have the chance to woo the point man.

Ari had enlisted her sister Desiree to help her become more enigmatic and it had worked. It drew people in, they wanted to know her, be close to her even as she held them away with cold looks and sharp words. Even Eames, forger though he was, had been fooled. The clothing had taken a little bit of time to work out. Arthur liked clean lines, expensive looks - a barrier between him and the world at large. The architect had emulated that, but the stockings had been an accident - a gag from Des. Ariadne hadn't even considered Arthur had a fetish, let alone one involving stockings. It made a wicked smirk touch her lips, sent her hands curling down her body as she danced.

Tonight was important - she'd have her point man.

Five drinks and two hours later, Ariadne showed no sign of leaving the dance floor and Arthur's resolve to just leave her be was making a last feeble stand. He blamed it on his love for the stockings, two strips of lace on either leg that held them in place - most of all the creamy white skin that lingered between. Two hours the point man watched, drunk more off the coy architect's dance than the liquor he imbibed.

Every flash of thigh sent him reeling, chipped away at the list of why he needed to stay by the bar. He way those fingers of hers clung to her body when she danced, or gripped the edge of her skirt when the songs turned heavy and heated did things to him that were delicious and overwhelming.

As the stoic man lifted his glass once more, movement towards Ariadne caught his attention. Male, probably mid twenties, not completely unkempt. The intruder sidled up to the dancing temptress, and Arthur's jaw clenched, eyes trained on the no doubt sweaty fumbling hands that pawed their way to rest on the little architect's waist. A muscle in his jaw started to tick when the brunette made no move to push the intruder away, though she didn't acknowledge him either.

When the man began to rock and mould to Ari's back, Arthur was moving before he even realized it. Suddenly he was in front of Ariadne, dark eyes meeting similarly colored orbs as he extended his hand. For a moment she just watched him, the interloper draped across her back, and the point man felt his confidence waver. When her small hand rested in his, it surprised him and he pulled her until she was plastered against his chest.

Ariadne was breathless, the nameless, faceless man had been the key. Here was her point man, eyes blazing, every inch of him taut with unspoken jealous. It sent sparks off between her thighs and left her breathless. In moments he had her in his arms, and was moving astonishingly well to the beat. The pale woman's hands planted themselves on his chest, and her hips swayed with his, standing so close a breath of air couldn't pass between them.

Even in the crush of bodies, Arthur could make out the little pixie's perfume, spicy sandalwood tempered with sweet vanilla, it made his hands roam across her back. He used them to press Ariadne closer to his body, felt the slight movements of her back muscles. Neither knew how much time passed, though both were aware of the dance floor populace. It wouldn't make them good extractors if they weren't.

As the music changed, their embrace did as well, her hands sliding to rest, draped about his shoulders, one of his teasing the small of her back, the other sneaking up under her skirt, palm engulfing part of her thigh. Arthur was burning her slowly and not even realizing it. The heat in his stare, ever point of contact between their bodies had her burning.

She was like a snake with all her seductive slithering against his body, Arthur decided. The torture of dancing with the architect - his architect, was exquisite. She was fire and water, burning and soothing, teasing and tempting.

To those at the bar, Arthur and Ariadne looked like lovers having a night on the town, who only had eyes for each other. Maybe it was the way the man's hand curled and pet his woman's leg just under her skirt. It could be the way the lithe brunette had wrapped herself around the wiry man. Either way everyone knew they wouldn't go home without each other, some even dreamed of going with them - a fool's daydream.

If anyone where to question the architect or the point man about how they ended up back in Arthur's apartment both would answer a resounding "I have no idea". Each was too wrapped up in the other, hands were everywhere at once, feverish kisses exchanged as they barged into the point man's flat.

Ariadne had never wanted anyone nearly as much as she wanted Arthur in these frantic moments. As they kissed, lips bruising with the force of it, their hands stole under clothing in any way possible, setting nerves on fire as they stumbled their way a few feet into the hall. Neither gained the upper hand in with their quick squeezes and fleeting touches; no one controlled the pace of a kiss. Tongues slid together with a fevered abandon, hinting the participants were afraid tonight was their only night together.

Arthur had Ariadne pinned to his Louis the fifteen replica coffee table before either of them knew it. It was her breathless gasp, which he swallowed away in the kiss, that finally cooled their passion enough for a smidgen of rational thought to peek through. Enough to for Arthur to pull away and take stock of the ruffled, lust hazed woman underneath him.

Ariadne's chest heaved as he watched her, dark rises dilated and piercing as she nibbled her bottom lip - gloss gone, leaving it red and starting to bruise from the harsh way they'd kissed. Idly Arthur wondered if he was one of few or many that had fallen to the quirky, mysterious young woman's charms before she squirmed her legs to curl on either side of his waist.

A heavy, husky laugh worked itself from his lips as the point man turned his eyes to her legs, encased in those delicious stockings. Even her shoes, which usually did nothing for him, were erotic and enticing tonight. His hands itched to touch her - and so he did just that.


End file.
